


& as far as we go (& as far as we know).

by outerjaw



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Character Study, Multi, Post-Canon, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outerjaw/pseuds/outerjaw
Summary: And this is a funny way that it ends,as I fade and sigh and realize that I cannot be saddened,knowing that I was gifted the grace of knowing you.When the sun next rises, I will see you on the other side of the horizon, my friend.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Kudos: 8





	& as far as we go (& as far as we know).

From his childhood days in Insomnia, he recalled far distant sunsets spent alone at a dinner table. Beams hit its surface, sending light to the ceiling of an unlit, empty kitchen. For a long time, he was at peace with himself and the unused chairs. The gentle hum of the empty refrigerator. The crinkling of the fast food bag in his hands. Along with a sunset to come home to, moving orange light across his arms and his eyes, came the reassurance that another day would rise soon enough. Like the tides, moving high and low, he could count on the balance of the world to keep him steady ( _ though he, certainly, was not _ ).

Always, always, he fought the lingering loneliness in his heart for the company of another person — his largest weakness and most guiding trait. Truthfully, he’d do anything to have someone’s company. He couldn’t bring himself to hate his parents, who only came home to see him once every blue moon, or even to hate the bullies he faced at school because of his figure. From inside, all he wanted was acceptance. Acceptance, in spite of the tattooed code along his wrist. Acceptance, in spite of his weight and appearance.

Terrible feelings followed terrible thoughts; even into his young adulthood as he was beyond used to the empty house he grew up in, the pain of rejection still stung as his parents were nowhere to be found on his day of leave. He had to wonder if they even cared about his road trip, or about the royal friends he made, or about the leaps and bounds of development he made for his health. But those worries were never vocalized. He was already at a disadvantage, being the only lower-class addition to their royal party. If he continued to dig at himself and reveal how weak he truly was, he was scared that he might have been left behind.

There was nothing else to do except pass himself off as a livewire. A happy-go-lucky kid with easy-going parents, who loved to take photos, and was weak for pretty ladies just like every other boy his age. But just like every mask, it had its cracks. It bent and stained, its crumbled edges cutting away at anyone who attempted to pull it off. It was unforgiving to even his friends, and especially himself.

The unsteady threat of war did little to calm his impending worries, but in practice he was able to shift his focus from himself and onto his friends. Just like a photographer was expected to do, he always managed to see the details that often went unnoticed by others. The subtle shift in an expression that hardly ever changed. The slump in three pairs of shoulders after a long day of hunting. Fluttering eyelids just before night turned to day. Prompto was well-tuned to it all.

He offered his happiest self to his friends, attempting to make up for the sheer tonne of disbelief that he was even able to go along with them in the first place — no, that he had been  _ requested _ to attend the trip by the Prince of Lucis himself. But, beyond any sense of shock, there was excitement: an emotion seldom honestly felt by the lonesome, pining soul. Very few experiences could come close to it, like the perfect snapshot of a single moment in time, never to be repeated, or the first time he had ever placed his ear to a chest and heard the heartbeat within. The things that gave him life were the memories of firsts, one-of-a-kinds and gestures given without being asked for. A favorite meal, or a favorite song. Smiles in response his bad jokes. Gloved knuckles brushing together along the length of claustrophobic caves.

Death, however, was something he wasn’t sure how to handle. Between the death of the king and the death of the betrothed, Prompto never knew how to make up for the pain that coursed through them all so vividly. There was no amount of joking or happy masks that could possibly bring back something so precious as a life. Only time and carefully placed affection could move them on, slowly but surely. Through all of their suffering, they still had each other; the concept was something that gave Prompto relief even in their darkest moments of arguments and fear. He could see it in the desperate looks of pure panic as his consciousness faded, only to be quickly returned by one of the special red feathers that Noctis kept in his pocket. As Gladio carried him when his limbs were too heavy and he could barely remember where he was. As Ignis force-fed him after bouts of nausea and sickness. There wasn’t a single moment when the four of them didn’t consider the other, taking care that the next death they’d face wouldn’t be one of their own.

Through over 10 years of darkness spent barely seeing the people he counted as his one and only family, Prompto held the hope within him that they’d be together again just like they used to be. One day, the sun would rise. Time would continue to move on, just like he told himself in his youth. And in the end, his wish came true. On the very night after their final campfire, knowing that he’d have to handle perhaps the most painful death of them all, Prompto lay on the steps of the ruined Citadel and watched as the sky started to change for the first time in a decade.

Around him, debris and rubble lay in the ruin of the streets. After Daemons and Magitek troops came at them from every which angle and his limbs were screaming for relief, he couldn’t even bring himself to move anymore. But that was something he didn’t protest against.

From above him, he thought he could hear Ignis’ and Gladio’s voices —  _ what were they saying? Were they even saying anything in the first place? _ Ah, no, the booming rumbles of buildings taken apart and the explosions of destroyed machines had finally deafened his hearing just as his best friend and first companion had been taken away from him.

His sight shifted, but he still couldn’t move. Couldn’t notice the distortion in his spine. The gashes and bullet wounds and burns in his legs. His hair was caked in ashes and blood, only half of which was his own. Something wet rolled down his cheek. He could feel that much, at least.

It was unbelievably painful to move his neck, but he did so anyway, wanting to look up at the person who now carried him. Familiar glasses and scars came into view; Prompto let himself smile, knowing that Ignis wouldn’t be able to see it, but hoping that he would count on the existence of such a thing anyway. Hey, he wanted to say. What a hell of a day it’s been, right? He could feel the vibrations in his throat, but the sound of his own voice didn’t reach his ears.

Looking up at the sky again, he could finally see the hint of yellow along the lightening blue of the horizon. Sobs hit his chest and made his breath unsteady. He couldn’t see if Gladio was walking beside them or not. Ignis’ lips moved, but again, only a dull emptiness hit Prompto’s ears, and again, he tried to speak.

There were so many things I never told you guys.

Out of the corner of his blurring vision, Prompto could’ve sworn he saw Ignis mouth the words, I know.

In what Prompto could only  _ assume _ was a quiet morning, he started to feel a growing pain in his stomach with his fading adrenaline. If he dared to look down at himself he would’ve seen the pool of liquid, so concentrated it was nearly black, dripping onto the coat of the man who carried him. But Ignis didn’t call attention to it and Prompto kept his gaze above them, wondering why his throat felt like it was closing up.

It only took him what felt like a blink to realize that it was getting harder to concentrate on the sky and its changing ombre of color and light. Even the wetness around his eyes was falling now without refrain, and he struggled to make himself take deep breaths.

I’m happy, he wanted to say, to think I’m finally gonna meet Lady Luna.

He barely noticed that Ignis was struggling against a grimace, and that tears of his own were also staining his expression, unable to be wiped away by the hands and arms that were holding onto Prompto with all of their strength.

I’m happy, he continued, that I met you guys.

He couldn’t stop his eyelids from closing, but before his sight went completely black he saw Ignis mouth something again; this time it passed too quickly to read. You’ll be alright, Ignis had said, though not even he knew if it was a desperate plea or a reassurance. All he could hope was that it gave Prompto peace, unaware that the man in his arms could only hear his own last fading thoughts. The night is over, Prompto. We’re home now. You’re home.

But among the things that Prompto had never said, the one he regretted most and thought the hardest about in his final moments of life was that his home had not been a city, or a house, or even a sunrise. It had been with the four of them. His family, and his hopes, and every single one of his longing dreams would always be with the four of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble has been sitting in my docs for _two years_. Can you believe?  
> I miss you Prompto, please call me back.
> 
> I'd like to advertise that I take writing requests! See [right here](https://twitter.com/outerjaw/status/1208521831793037313) for more info. Thank you for reading!


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